Pearl of Pearl Island eBook

“I hope you will not consider
it presumption on my part to express the fear
that my letter has somehow miscarried—­probably
through some oversight of my own, or carelessness
on the part of the postal authorities.

“You will, I know, be glad to
hear that Lady Elspeth accomplished her journey
in safety and without undue discomfort. But
Lady Assynt’s condition makes it probable that
her stay may be somewhat prolonged.

“I venture to hope that
you may regret this as much as I do. All
who enjoyed Lady Elspeth’s
friendship and hospitality cannot but
miss her sorely.

“I hope, however, that I may still
have the pleasure of meeting you occasionally
elsewhere. When one has not the habit of readily
making new friendships one clings the more firmly to
those already made.—­Sincerely yours,

“John C. Graeme.”

That letter he dropped into the Pixley letterbox himself
that night, and so was assured of its delivery.
But two days passed in waning hope, and the afternoon
of the third found him on the doorstep of No. 1 Melgrave
Square.

II

“Miss Brandt?”

The solemn-faced man-servant eyed him suspiciously
as a stranger. He looked, to Graeme, like a superannuated
official of the Court of Chancery.

“Miss Brandt is not at home, sir.”

“Mrs. Pixley?”

“Mrs. Pixley is not at home, sir.”

Was he right or wrong, he wondered, in thinking he
detected a gleam of satisfied anticipation, of gratified
understanding, in the solemn one’s otherwise
rigid eye—­as of one who had been told to
expect this and was lugubriously contented that it
had duly come to pass?

However, there was nothing more to be done there at
the moment. The polite conventions, to say nothing
of the law, forbade him the pleasure of hurling the
outcast of Chancery into the kennel and forcing his
way in. Instead, he hailed a hansom and drove
straight to Lincoln’s Inn, boldly demanded audience
of Mr. Pixley on pressing private business, and presently
found himself in the presence.

Mr. Pixley stood on the hearthrug with his back to
the fire, and handled his gold pince-nez defensively.

Here also Graeme had an intuition that he was expected,
which was somewhat odd, you know, unless his letters
had been handed to Mr. Pixley for perusal, which did
not seem likely.

Mr. Pixley bowed formally and he responded—­the
salute before the click of the foils.

Mr. Pixley stood expectant, but by no means inviting
of confidences such as his visitor was about to tender
him. Rather he seemed fully armed for the defence,
especially in the matter of the heavy gold pince-nez,
which he held threateningly, after the manner of the
headsman of old towards the victim on whom he was about
to operate.

“I have taken the liberty of calling, Mr. Pixley,”
said Graeme,—­and Mr. Pixley’s manner
in subtle fashion conveyed his full recognition of
the fact that liberty it undoubtedly was, and that
he had no smallest shadow of a right to be there,—­“to
inquire after Miss Brandt.”